


Sleeping Pills

by CornflowerBlue (DayDaDahlias)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Ashton Has Feelings, Depressed Ashton Irwin, Depressed Luke, Depression, Drinking, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin-centric, No one is dealing with their issues, Off-Screen Suicide Attempt, References to Depression, References to Drugs, SGFG era, Sleeping Pills, Suicide Attempt, ft. band dad Ashton, hotel pools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26133685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayDaDahlias/pseuds/CornflowerBlue
Summary: Luke can't sleep.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Sleeping Pills

**Author's Note:**

> I love pain, so.

It’s two in the morning and Luke still can’t sleep. 

It seems too common an occurrence these days. He knows that it’s because they’re on tour and with the constant adrenaline that is coursing through his veins, the parties that keep him up until the sun rises, the alcohol/weed/mystery substances that make his skin itch and his blood pump in the wrong direction, and the hangovers that keep him too sick to leave the bathroom until the afternoon, it’s hard to find the time to sleep. 

Does Luke hate touring? Of course not. There are few highs as rewarding as the one felt on stage. But does he hate just about everything else that comes with it? Absolutely. 

He hates being grabbed by people he doesn’t know. He hates girls screaming in his ears so loud he can’t hear. He hates being corralled by their management like toddlers (even though, in their team’s defense, they sort of are). He hates not knowing what country he’s in. Hates the constantly shifting time zones. Hates meeting pretty people and then never seeing them again. Hates just about everything that is supposedly meant to make being a musician great. 

But. 

But, but, _but_. 

He loves being on stage. He loves feeling the strings of his guitar beneath his fingers, loves the feel of the bass in his bones, loves watching Calum and Michael jump up and down beside him, loves watching Ashton destroy the drums like he’s dying. He loves performing and he loves his brothers performing with him, so he’ll deal with the constant horror of touring and the ache in his chest as long as he has to, just so he can get those split seconds on stage when he closes his eyes and feels the music in his blood. 

It doesn’t change the fact that he can’t sleep though. 

Nothing can seem to change that, and he’s too nervous about his own habits and previous interactions to take sleeping pills no matter how much he wants to. Early on, in the first tour, Michael took them for a while, and although they seemed to help at the time, he divulged to Luke that he had started to want them constantly, just for that silence they brought and that had been… Well to put it simply, that had been the scariest thing Luke had ever heard. 

And he hadn’t known what to do except tell Ashton—because when there was a problem, they _always_ told Ashton—which had prompted a long band meeting where they all sat in a circle on the floor in their shared apartment, and Ashton gave one of his long, all-important speeches about leaning on each other instead of the crutch that is drugs. 

And then it prompted a different, private conversation between Michael and Ashton later that week after a show that Ashton left with a stony expression and Michael left with bloodshot, watery eyes. 

And then that prompted Michael not wanting to tell Luke his secrets anymore. 

Ashton always talks a big game but it’s easy when he’s not the one up at bat. 

Ashton doesn’t do drugs. He smokes some weed every now and again with Calum and he drinks but not as much as the others do. He doesn’t take anti-depressants or any of that nonsense; but of course he doesn’t need to. He said something to Luke once about not wanting to cloud his mind, wanting to be as authentically him as he could. It’s a nice idea. Ashton’s happy. 

It must be nice to be happy.

Luke likes the clouds too much to wade through mud, even if there’s a greener pasture on the other side. That means drugs. Drugs get you to the clouds faster.

Sleeping pills would be nice right about now if Ashton hadn’t scared him and the rest of the band shitless of them… At the moment, there’s nothing that sounds better than some sleep, no matter how it comes. He might call someone up just to come and knock him out, that’s how desperate he’s getting. Michael would totally be willing to punch him… 

His mind is running wild tonight as he lies alone in his hotel bed, covers thrown to the side. He finds himself almost missing the times when the band was younger and less successful and the boys had to share rooms. If he had one of them, he would at least have someone to talk to. 

Not that he really knows what he wants to talk about. 

Life. 

Love. 

The fact that the bags beneath his eyes keep getting bigger and he hasn’t wanted to eat for three days. The only reason he’s eaten at all is because Ashton had caught him at breakfast yesterday morning and said, “hey, did you get something?” to which Luke had answered honestly, because it wasn’t easy lying to Ash, and Ashton had chuckled, steered him back to the catering table and said, “well, c’mon. Here, man, I’ll make you a plate.”

Luke isn’t one to say no to Ashton when he plays the mother. He misses his own too much to pass up the opportunity of being cared for. 

He likes hanging with Calum and Michael, of course; they’re his best friends. But Ashton is his go-to when things go bad. He’s all of their go-tos really. Ash is soft spoken with easy, helpful advice but quick to crack a loud joke when the tension grows too tight. 

Talking to Michael about his problems is a no because Michael just teases him, too afraid of being vulnerable after what happened last time, and Calum is a great listener but isn’t too great with the advice. Usually, Luke will tell him something that’s been getting him down and Calum will just nod his head and say, “for sure, for sure. Same here, brother” which is a kind thought, but no help. 

Sometimes Luke just needs someone to keep him out of his own mind and Ashton is the one who can do that. 

He rolls over in bed and checks the clock. 

2:08 am. 

He groans. This can’t go on. 

He needs something, _someone_. He can’t just lie in bed until the sun rises, that would be pathetic. And he knows Michael needs the shut eye and Calum will get pissed about being woken up and he can’t stand his own brain right now so he knows who he’s going to. 

Besides, Ashton’s room is right down the hall and all he has to do is pull a t-shirt on and some baggy pajama bottoms to head that way, his keycard tucked in his pocket. Although, if he’s honest, he probably won’t return to his own room. Most likely, Ashton won’t let him.

Not when his eyes are this red, his eyelids are this bruised, and his frown is this deep. 

He wanders down the quiet hotel hallway until he ends up at Ashton’s door. And then he merely stands there in front of it, hesitating. Is waking Ashton up really the best idea? He probably needs sleep too… It’s selfish, waking up Ashton for his own betterment, he knows that… But Luke is lonely and, by dammit, he’s selfish too so he knocks on the door. 

And no one answers.

He waits a beat.

Knock, knock. 

Silence in return. 

And this is when he starts to stress, because Ashton not answering means Luke having to head back to his room _alone_ and staring at the ceiling, completely fucking sober and drowning in his own thoughts. Oh _fuck_ no. 

He raps twice more on the door, more hurriedly, and—when no one answers—throws his head back with a moan. Of course Ashton is actually being responsible and sleeping.

Luke glances down, rubbing at one of his eyes with a fist, wrangling his phone out of his pocket with the other hand so he can awkwardly open it and text Ashton his frustration so when the older boy wakes up the next morning to a plethora of unread distraught and depressed messages, he’ll feel like a terrible friend and will be forced to make it up to Luke later. 

Ashton gets guilty easily when it comes to the boys. He’s too caring of a person, and the other three take advantage of that readily. Because they know, Ashton will do whatever it takes to make them happy. But Ashton knows that too, so it isn’t as if it’s a malicious thing, Luke guilt tripping him. Luke craves for caring and Ashton cares for craving.

Luke’s going to make Ashton treat him to ice-cream; he’s been wanting something sweet since the weekend. 

He types out, _why aren’t you awake_ , with a series of crying emojis and clicks send.

He doesn’t even get two words into the next message before his phone lights up with the notification, _I am._

Luke blinks down at his phone, alarmed, before darting his eyes to the closed hotel door in front of him. His heart skips half a beat, already anticipating the coddling he is about to receive. 

_You’re awake?_ he returns hopefully, maintaining eye contact with the door.

 _Yeah???_ comes Ashton’s reply.

Luke scowls before he knocks at the door twice more but again, no one answers him. Is Ashton ignoring him? That’s rude. He can’t handle that right now. He’s getting a tad desperate. His eyes are so itchy.

He texts back, hoping the panic isn’t too evident, _let me in_.

Within a second; _in where?_

Luke grumbles. _In your room_

 _I’m not in my room_.

That throws Luke for a loop and he stands there, perplexed, before he texts, _what?? Where are you?_

_The pool, mate._

Luke reads it twice to make sure he isn’t crazy. He replies, _the… pool??? Why tf are you at the POOL??_

He can practically hear Ashton’s signature giggle in his ears and he smiles softly as he reads the message. _Lovely Tuesday morning for a swim, Lu._

 _Fuck off_ , Luke writes back through a snort. _Why are you up, anyway? It’s 2:20_.

_Why’re you?_

_Yeah, got me there._

A few seconds pass by before the next alert comes from Ashton, saying simply, _come down to the pool. we can be awake together._

Luke grins openly to himself, beyond relieved, as he shoots back, _that’s a great come on line._

 _Only on whores like you_ , the alert responds and—even though no one can see him in the empty hallway—Luke lets out an offended gasp for emphasis. But he doesn’t text back. It would be smarter to slap Ashton in person.

He doesn’t bother to grab anything from his room; figures the only things he will need are his thoughts and his mouth, so he makes his way to the outdoor pool of the hotel, alarmed that it is even open so late. 

The hotel is eerily silent, like something out of a horror movie, and every step Luke takes seems to ring through the halls. He keeps waiting for something to jump out and drag him into the shadows. But nothing/no-one does, and he makes it outside safely.

The air is warm. 

When he arrives at the gate, he sends a look across the many patio chairs and the neon blue glow of the water in the blanket of night. It’s oddly beautiful, especially with the stars lit up so brilliantly in the sky but what is more alluring is the figure resting on a patio chair, one leg thrown over the other.

Ashton is reclined back, a hand behind his head, and Luke can’t make much of him out but the silhouette, but even that is enough to make Luke’s pounding heart settle and he shuts the gate quietly before he starts toward Ashton, sporting a sheepish grin.

Ashton notices him almost immediately and raises his hand in greeting as he shifts up, calling out, “and there he is! You bring your bathers, big guy?”

Luke shakes his head with a chuckle, tugging a plastic chair over next to Ashton’s. “Did you?”

Ashton laughs. “Nah.”

Ashton moves then to lift his other hand to his mouth and Luke is surprised to watch a half empty beer bottle press against his lips. He can’t even stop his smile from falling and his eyes from widening. And he can’t suppress his voice from asking, alarmed, “you’re drinking?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ashton says and he looks at the bottle in his hand as though he is also surprised by its presence. He looks over at Luke and fixes his smile on wider. “You want one?”

Luke slacks and shakes his head. He knows if he starts drinking, he won’t be able to stop. “No, no... I shouldn’t.”

He leans back in the chair and directs his eyes to the sky. The stars blink at him. He doesn’t say anything else but he lets out a heavy sigh and it is enough to alert Ashton, who sits up straighter, concern written on his features. 

He asks, instantly—like he always does, “you okay?”

Luke lets out a breath. He can’t even lie. “No.”

Ashton has abandoned the bottle beside his chair in a heartbeat and brought himself to fully sit up, swinging his legs over the side to rest on the ground. He focuses all his attention onto Luke—as if he is something worth the hassle—his hazel eyes so big and interested. “What’s wrong?”

The worst part is though, Luke doesn’t even have an answer. Because nothing really _is_ wrong, he just feels like it is. Like the world is tilted slightly off its axis. But he doesn’t know how he can explain that correctly to Ashton, so he settles on saying, “homesick, I think.”

“You think?” 

Luke shrugs.

“C’mon.” Ashton gives him a gentler smile and scoots closer on his chair. 

Luke wipes his nose. “I can’t sleep,” he says and there is something far too tragic in the tone. 

He hadn’t meant to sound so horribly sad to the point that it makes Ashton’s posture loosen, and his eyebrows angle up. Hadn’t meant to be so dramatic. 

Ashton mumbles, “Luke…”

And that one syllable says so much. 

Luke wants to protest and say something like, _well it’s not like I’m dying, I’m just having some trouble sleeping is all_ , but… Well, it’s not like he’s dying, but it sort of is.

“When was the last time you slept?” Ashton asks, his eyes doing their rounds of Luke’s face and it’s as if he is for the first time seeing the darkened lids and the pain in Luke’s frown, and Luke swears he can hear Ashton’s heart break in real time. 

Luke mutters apathetically; he doesn’t honestly know. “Thursday? Maybe?”

It’s Tuesday.

Ashton’s shoulders sag exponentially and he says, “ _Luke_.”

And Luke knows what that means. He can hear it in Ashton’s hazel eyes. _What didn’t you tell me?_

“It’s not a big deal,” Luke starts to protest but Ashton doesn't let him get far.

“It obviously is if you’re hitting me up at two in the morning.”

“Hey!” Luke is quick to sit up. “You’re awake too!”

It takes a split second for Ashton to recover, pulling back before he replies, “this isn’t about me.”

It never is.

It’s all; Luke needs to drink less beer, Michael needs to take less pills, Calum needs to smoke less weed. What does Ashton need to do? Luke doesn’t know. Doesn’t ask.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Luke grumbles, folding his arms. 

“ _Sleep_ would probably be best,” Ashton teases in a hopeful tone and Luke might have laughed if he didn’t feel like such a corpse. Realizing he’s not going to get the expected reaction, Ashton swallows and tries again. “Do you need to talk? Is it something in particular or—”

“No.” And it really isn’t. “S’just life, I guess.”

Ashton frowns deeply. “Luke—”

Luke rests his elbows on his knees. “I just wish it could slow down for a while, y’know? Just a minute or two so I can figure out how to think again. Right? Without the—the performances and the pressure and the paparazzi. Just one fucking minute of quiet.” 

Ashton regards him sadly but Luke knows he feels the same based on the way he exhales and then nods. “Yeah. It might be nice.”

“Might be?” Luke snorts. “It would be beautiful.”

Ashton hesitantly smiles at him. “I don’t know, Lu. Silence—” he lets out a puff of air— “Silence isn’t all it’s cut out to be.”

Luke laughs. “Like you’d know. Name one time you’ve been quiet.”

Ashton’s responding chuckle is weak and he opens his mouth like he is going to say something different than he does. “You’re right. No off switch on me.”

Luke is content with sitting back in his chair again. There are a few beats that rest between them when Luke can’t think of what exactly to say. He came out here to hear Ashton talk. Why isn’t Ashton talking? Why isn’t Ashton distracting him from reality? That’s his purpose, isn’t it?

“So…” Luke tries. “What’re you doin’ up?”

Ashton blinks. “What?”

“It’s 2:30 in the morning and you’re by the pool,” Luke elaborates, “what’s up with that?”

“Oh.” Ashton parts his lips. A pause. He snickers like he finds something funny. “I told you, I wanted to swim.”

“You didn’t bring your bathers,” Luke points out for the second time that night.

“You didn’t either,” Ashton replies and Luke doesn’t understand why he’s avoiding the subject. It’s an easy question.

Ashton reaches down beside his chair and picks up his beer bottle off the ground. He takes a languid sip and Luke watches as he does so. He’s getting a little irritated now that Ashton won’t answer him properly. 

“I’m serious,” he says.

“I am too,” Ashton answers and turns his head to Luke, smiling, as he sets his beer back down. “You sure you don’t want one?”

“No, I don’t want one.” Luke shakes his head. “I’m serious, why’re you up?”

“My mum called,” Ashton answers within a minute of thought. “Time zone’s off, y’know. She wanted to say goodnight.”

Luke shifts. “Oh.”

“S'only midnight there.”

“Does she know?” Luke asks.

“What?” Ashton laughs and it is this warm sound like honey. “That I stayed up ‘till two in the morning for her? No. But she doesn’t need to. I wouldn’t wanna worry her with stuff like that.”

Luke drums a beat on his pants. “So you’re not having trouble sleeping?”

Ashton lets his smile fade. “No.” And then he gets this air about him, like he is about to lecture as he says, “and you know why? Because—”

“Because you usually don’t smoke and you usually don’t drink and you usually don’t take anything, yeah yeah, I know.” Luke grumbles, not really in the mood for a speech about positivity when he feels so negative. “Not all of us can be the poster boy for mental health, Ash. Some of us have problems.”

He doesn’t understand the look that crosses Ashton’s face but it isn’t there longer than a few seconds before Ashton just nods his head stoically and says, “yeah. And I’m sorry you do. But you can’t just wallow in them; you have to take steps to change your—”

Luke lets out a scoff. “What? You think I don’t? You think I’m purposely keeping myself up for days? You think that’s something I want to be doing?”

“I’m not saying that at all.” Ashton’s tone stays level and that bothers Luke to no extent. How can he be so calm? Luke wants him to yell. To argue. For once in his life, not to make the right decision.

He wants Ashton to fuck up just once so he knows how Luke feels.

“I’m just saying that—” Ashton waves a hand to find the words— “When shit like this happens, and you feel like—well, like shit—you can’t just sit there and feel like shit. You gotta think—”

“Positively?” Luke interrupts again and this time he notices pushback in the way Ashton’s lips purse. “Easy for you to say, Ash.”

Ashton reaches for his beer bottle again. He ignores what Luke said. “There are steps you can take to make yourself feel better. Smile on purpose and wait for it to become real, write more music if it helps. Listen to upbeat music to reset your momentum. Make others happy. Talk to people.”

Luke says, “I’m talking to you.”

“You are.” Ashton takes a sip of his beer. “Is it helping?”

“Not really.” But it sort of is. Luke has already written ‘smile on purpose’ and ‘listen to upbeat music’ in his mind for later. Ashton’s advice helps nine times out of ten.

“And if you’re having trouble sleeping,” Ashton goes on, unfazed, “play music in the background, or white noise. Listen to an audiobook.”

“But then I’d want to listen to the book—” Luke tries to argue. 

“Drink some warm milk.”

“I’m not five.”

“Aren’t you though?” Ashton grins and Luke pretends to be offended but he can’t stop a soft smile from tugging at his lips. Ashton tacks on as an afterthought, “I do yoga before bed; that helps.”

“I don’t like yoga.”

Ashton narrows his eyes and his smile is sharper. “I try to maintain a positive outlook on life and not interrupt my friends when they’re giving me advice and that usually helps too.”

Oh. That’s new. Is that pushback? Is that—? Luke senses tension. So he adds on, as if it is very conversational, “well, I was just thinking instead of all that, I could just take some doxy—”

“Absolutely not.” Ashton doesn’t even let him finish the thought. It is an abrupt interruption and his voice is clipped. He is shaking his head and his posture has gone rigid. “Absolutely not. No. No way.”

Luke grunts, frustrated. “Why not?”

“No.” Ashton keeps shaking his head back and forth in minute increments. “You don’t want to do that. Trust me.”

He takes the time to retrieve his beer bottle from the pavement and hold it up against his lips. Luke can’t be for sure in the darkness but it looks like he’s shivering. Weird. It’s not even cold. 

“C’mon, why not?” Luke repeats. “Google says that it’ll help with—” 

“Google! Well, _I_ say it’s a bad idea and I’m two years older than you and I’ve been around the block a time or two, so maybe I know a little more than you and ‘google,’ okay?” Ashton snaps and that is _interesting_ to Luke because Ashton doesn’t snap. Calum snaps and Michael snaps and Luke snaps sometimes under pressure but Ashton doesn’t. Not at the boys. 

“Just because you’re two years older doesn’t mean you’ve seen the world more than I have,” Luke states flatly.

“Except that it does and I have,” Ashton says back, his tone staying sharp on the edges, “and I’m telling you, point-blank, you don’t take those pills.” His voice darkens and he raises a finger, threatening. “If you take those pills, Luke, I swear to _God_ , I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Luke mocks. “Kick me out of the band? Is that what you told Michael when he was taking them? That you were gonna kick him out of the band over something as fucking stupid as sleeping pills?”

Ashton’s finger turns into a menacing point. “What Michael and I talked about is none of—” 

“He left _crying_ , Ash.” Luke’s voice is raising without him meaning for it to. “You must have said something fucking terrible to him.”

“I didn’t _threaten_ him.” It sounds like Ashton is trying to keep from shouting. “I just told him that—” he stutters— “That I—I just told him that—”

“That you _what_?” Luke demands. He feels like he’s really yelling now. “That he should be happy like you? That it’s his own fault and he shouldn’t need pills? That he should ‘try to be as true to himself as possible’ and all the other bullshit you sprout! Huh? That you’d think less of him for needing _help_? ” 

“No! What the fuck, Luke!” Ashton cries, rearing back. “Is that what you fucking think? That I told him something as fucking terrible as that?”

“Well if not, what the fuck _did_ you tell him? He cried for days, Ashton; he wouldn’t say shit to us,” Luke shouts back and he’s glaring at Ashton full-on and he knows deep down that he isn’t even mad. He’s just so goddamn tired.

“I told him the truth!” Ashton yells and his voice is a second from breaking.

Luke throws his hands up, letting out an exasperated laugh, malicious. “Oh yeah, Ash, and what the fuck is that?” 

“That I tried to kill myself with them!”

The night stops. 

Luke stops. And he stares at Ashton because… because there’s no way he heard that right. And all he can do is mumble out a timid, “wait, what?”

Ashton is sitting on his patio chair, chest heaving, his cheeks pink even in the dark, and the pain that is on his face is surreal. Because Luke hasn’t ever seen him look like that before. And then Ashton shakes his head and the regret is so obvious; that he’s said something he shouldn’t have.

“You—” Ashton chokes. “You shouldn’t take sleeping pills. They don’t—they don’t help.”

“Ash—” Luke starts quietly but Ashton doesn’t let him finish. He is already standing up from his chair, leaving his beer bottle abandoned on the ground beside his chair.

“All I’m telling you, Luke, is—” Ashton adjusts his t-shirt collar— “silence isn’t all it’s cut out to be.”

And he’s leaving. He’s actually fucking _leaving_. And there’s no way Luke can let him so he stands up, saying loudly across the space between them, “you can’t just say that and—”

“I didn’t say anything.” 

Ashton is quick to turn around. He looks so afraid and it’s a look that doesn’t suit him at all. It’s so wrong an expression on his face. He stares at Luke and he opens his mouth like he is going to say something and Luke is so ready to hear it because he needs to talk, he needs to say something, because there’s no way that _Ashton_ said that. 

But Ashton closes his mouth and he finishes, voice so small and unlike his own, “I’m gonna go to bed, Luke.”

He exits the pool in a rush. Doesn’t give Luke another chance to say a word. 

It’s three in the morning and Luke is left alone by a neon blue pool and to an empty beer bottle that isn’t his own. And he hasn’t slept in days. 

And Ashton just—

 _Ashton tried to kill himself with sleeping pills_. 

Luke staggers back and falls into his chair.

 _Ashton tried to kill himself with sleeping pills_.

Luke covers his mouth with a hand.

 _Ashton tried to kill himself with sleeping pills_.

Luke definitely won’t be able to sleep tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
